Robinson

Recently, I found myself unusually situated, domino-wise. It was Heroes Day and, at a small gathering that evening, dominos were the focus. Instead of playing, I found myself kibitzing Easton Douglas. For those of you who don't know, quite apart from his supreme talent as a chartered surveyor, he is (more importantly) a first-class domino player. As he and his partner were busy outfoxing their opposition, my mind drifted back to how I first met Easton Douglas.

It was during the mid-1990s, when he was the minister of land and the environment in the then People's National Party government. I'm vague on the details after all this time, but he had just taken (or was responsible for) a ministerial decision resulting in special permission being given for a popular restaurant to operate on Hillcrest Avenue. It was reported that the owner/operator was his ex-wife's current beau. The press had a field day. Joining in, I submitted an article to the newspapers (which, to my shock and amazement, was published) severely criticising him for his part in the whole affair (no pun intended) stopping just short of calling him corrupt. In my youthful exuberance, I recall that I might have called him 'The Minister of Squatting on the Environment'.

Unknown caller

A day after the article's publication, my office phone rang. The caller was an unknown, very agitated female, "You remember Green Bay?" she asked. I was too advanced in age, even then, to mount a credible denial. "Well," she continued menacingly, "if you don't apologise publicly to Comrade Douglas, that is what gwine happen to you!" I hung up the phone and immediately produced a second article, more critical than the first. Incredibly, it was also published. I added Minister Douglas to my long mental list of public figures, using my likeness as a dartboard, and moved on.

About two weeks later, I took a group of young lawyers to lunch at a nearby Indian food restaurant. Before long, who should stroll into the restaurant, with a small entourage, but the minister himself. I knew it was him because his was a famous face. I was equally certain that he would not identify me for the simple reason that, as a confirmed Hermit, I have spent a lifetime avoiding photographs until, recently, Ye Olde Editor, not satisfied with foisting my intemperate views upon an uninterested readership, has insisted on exposing my unsightly mug as well.

No such luck. He spotted me immediately and calmly approached my table. He greeted me with the charm and grace which I now know is his wont. He congratulated me on my interest in public affairs and, with obvious sincerity, invited me to come in anytime and take a look at some of the projects being worked on by his Ministry. I was dumbfounded. In our polarised tribal society, this was the one reaction I had not expected.

Frosty countenance

The next time I ran into him, unexpectedly, was at a friend's wedding in St Mary. Again, as I do with every public figure, I tried my reclusive best to avoid contact. He would have none of it seeking me out for a most interesting and pleasant conversation. As soon as he introduced me by name to his lady companion, a frost akin to the frozen tundra attached itself to her countenance but he pressed on to engage me regardless again establishing, by his deeds, a sincerity and aplomb bereft of insecurity that is a rare commodity in today's political life.

I have since come to know Easton very well as a Professional of the highest standard and scrupulous ethics; a family man whose relationship with his children mean more to him than life itself; an urbane gentleman and a gentle man; a relic of a bygone era when wit and charm were the sine qua non of success; and an excellent and committed domino player. I am proud to call him my friend. This is a great Jamaican. Has he made mistakes? I'm sure he has. Only those of us who haven't lived long can truthfully claim the perfection of an error-free existence.

Easton is now facing some health challenges, but is dealing with them with his usual equanimity and positivity. I am sure he will overcome. The last thing he said to me as we headed home that night was "Keep on writing Gordon. You know how much I enjoy your writing." Big praise from a big man. Stay strong, my friend.

Peace and Love.

Gordon Robinson is an attorney-at-law. Send feedback to columns@gleanerjm.com.